His,Mine, Ours
by SheepAmongstWolves12
Summary: "He's the boy with the bread. He's the light that I desperately cling to when the dark claims me at night. He's the promise that no matter how bad things get, there is hope for the future" One shot at the end of MJ.First Attempt At Canon. Reviews Welcomed.


_SO…:)_

_Thought for once that I should attempt something that resembles the canon. Or that bit in the canon that was never really written. Yes, you know…That scene at the end of Mockingjay…;)_

_Where is this coming from? The fact that I'm working and won't get to see my boyfriend for our anniversary has caused all this tension to rise up in me and all my grand plans and ideas will be given to you guys as a cathartic release for my non- existent personal life at the moment… _

_That and I thought about the first time that I'd ever said the three words to him and how, for one very minute second, I finally knew how it felt to be Katniss Everdeen when she realised her love for Peeta. I realised how I could be so stupid to deny something when it was staring at me right in the face._

_SO ENJOY MY ANNIVERSARY AND THE THOUGHTS THAT FESTER INSIDE MY HEAD…:D ;)_

_It's been a while since I've written from Katniss' POV, so forgive me :)_

_This is also dedicated to my own Peeta…Even though you look exactly like Gale… I love you. _

_**Disclaimer:**__ I do not own the characters, story, or have any ownership of the Hunger Games, nor do I profit from any such activities with regard to my writings on Fan Fiction and/ or other Hunger Games related sites. No copyright infringement is intended._

* * *

It's sort of funny, even humorous, how at the end of all things, my minds shifts to the beginning; to how things started initially. As human beings, we reminisce about how things could've been, or even how things should have turned out had the events in our life ran accordingly. It seems that no matter what happens, the ghosts of our pasts continue to haunt us, regardless of the changes and experience we gain in life. Change. That's a word that Dr. Aurelius focused on in our sessions. Not much sank in during that long blurred period of time; not when I was hiding in closets, or crying for Peeta.

Peeta.

Even the thought of him today still causes conflicted emotions inside of me. That was something that Dr. Aurelius had touched on in greater detail over the phone once we returned home to District 12. My ability to classify people as either friends or enemies had always worked well for me. It was a survival method, being able to discourage a good deal from a bad one, being able to trust that Gale would help my family and that Cray would most likely abuse me should I have gone to him for … An involuntary shudder passes through me at the thoughts of how willing I was to ensure that we survived. Could I still do that now? At nineteen years of age, I don't know. Romance and sex had never really appealed to me, not when there was a far greater need within me to live. But Peeta…Peeta remains this uncategorized piece in my story. He's neither my enemy, but calling him a friend isn't enough to define his presence either. Peeta is that incongruent space between the two, where my usual boundaries are explored and heightened beyond expectation, which not only makes me curious, but also terrifies me at the same time.

He's always there though. Guarding me during the night and guiding me through each day. And I'm there for him, to help him through the pain of the memories, both Capitol induced and ones caused solely by myself. In time, we've re- learned each other; our habits, things we like to do, trying to remember how life was before. Except Peeta continues to remain this indefinable part of me, like a secret that about myself that even I had no recollection of ever knowing.

Our routine each day is clearly defined. Dr. Aurelius said that consistency was crucial to trying to fit into the 'normal' patterns of life that follow for people like us. People like Peeta and I. The boy that the Capitol deranged and the girl who didn't understand how she felt about him until it was too late and he'd been taken away from her. I don't know if I've moved on from that period of my life. What I do know is that Peeta has changed in the year that has passed since we arrived home. The innocence that once prevailed upon his character has been tarnished from various means. From the Capitol, and their corrupt need to make the districts feel threatened by taking the lives of innocent children in a death battle for food. From the dreaded memories of lost tributes and muttations, from watching our friends; friends like Finnick and Madge and….Prim…. died for us, for our freedom. And at last, from me; from my stupidity, selfishness and ignorance, I crumbled that last bit of Peeta's purity until the prospect of him had nearly diminished completely. Even with that, he never gave up; he never pretended to be something he wasn't. Something that had been fashioned by the Capitol, regardless of how much they tried to break him and the memories he had of me.

When we first arrived home, we were lost, misplaced even. After everything he'd gone through, all that remained for him at home was the remains of his family's bakery. Yet, with time and the peace that it brings, Peeta and I learned how to be ourselves again. He re- built the bakery, not only as a workplace, but also to hold onto the last remaining link of his family, that now stands proudly resurrected in their memory. Peeta said that it was part of the healing process that Dr. Aurelius had suggested; it was meant to make him realise that although he has changed and his loved ones have died, they never really leave us. Building the bakery left him busy and focused so that his mind was far from distraction and worry.

Unfortunately, worry was all that seemed to consume me these days. Worry for this new, tingly niggling sensation in my chest that occurs whenever Peeta is around, and all it takes is a smile or a kind word or even a mere look from him and I feel this uneasy twist in my stomach that eventually turns into a much greater by the time I understand what's actually happening. It's a hunger, but of a different sort; similar to the one that I felt a few times in the cave and then again on the beach during the Quell. That want for Peeta to hold me in his big arms with the promise that however bad things are, he'll hold me together and keep me safe; safe from the world and safe from myself. Although we may share a bed every night, there is nothing but the chaste kiss that he places against my cheek before falling asleep each night. In the mornings, we always seem to find ourselves tangled together; my legs meshed with his and his arms around my waist as I absorb his heat.

* * *

Today it became too much for me.

The hunger is evidently roaring inside of my abdomen, swelling inside of me and coursing throughout the network of veins; spreading the want inside of me so that every inch of me grows more and more sensitive with every thought of him.

He looks confused as I step towards him, keeping my eyes on the ground.

"Katniss?" he says, with an air of worry and curiosity in his voice, before holding me close and kissing my forehead softly. He deserves more, so much more than me. Our eyes meet and the hunger throbs from within as I meet his lips with mine.

"I want to love you properly…after everything …"

"It's okay Katniss, we don't have to…" he whispers against my ear.

"No Peeta! No it's not okay!"

His eyes have that horrid glaze in them, the one when I know that my words aren't being taken seriously and that he's just pretending to listen. My fists pound repeatedly into his chest, refusing to give into him. Because if I do, then I will crumble for sure and there will be nothing but regret. Regret that he's stuck with me in a relationship with no feeling or emotion. And even worse than regret, if he thinks that this is pretence and nothing else, I may as well have shot him back in the Arena during our first Games.

"You don't have to pretend anymore Katniss, the war…the Capitol, everything's over. You don't want this, you just think you do" he says, a hint of humour in his voice.

His eyes meet mine and the moment is agonisingly sweet in this tension filled air. Have I really driven away the boy with the bread? Have I pushed him away so much that he can no longer believe anything I say?

"You don't believe me…do you?" I say, my voice crumbling with defeat and my new found fire dying at a rapid pace.

Those eyes tell me what I need to know quicker than any words could. Then the almost crushing weights of his arms are around me again, as a hand tilts my chin to look at his face.

"You have no idea how much I've wanted you. Longed for just you. Just to stand two foot beside you meant more than anything else to me, because I knew…"

He looks away for a split second before arriving back at my face; crestfallen at the thoughts that circulate inside his head. More than anything, I want to push them away, to bury them somewhere where he'll never find them again. Because if I don't then not only will I lose him forever, but I may also do something stupid, like cry.

"…Because I knew that you'd always belong to someone else…I knew that you'd go off with him and have a family together…But now that I have you, here, like this, it just seems too surreal…like it's an induced lie that I was fed in the Capitol or something…"

There's nothing I can say that will repair the damage, confusion and hurt that I've caused him over the past three years. But my lips find his before I can say anything and the hunger that I've welcomed on a few rare occasions in my life, yet have only acted upon it once during the Quarter Quell finally explodes into what I'd been denying both him and myself for so long. The fire comes back, stronger than before, almost to the brink of excruciatingly blissful agony before I realise how much he means to me. He's the boy with the bread. He's the light that I desperately cling to when the dark claims me at night. He's the promise that no matter how bad things get, there is hope for the future. These flames, the long, slow; unbearably intense feeling of intimacy is what causes the breath in my throat to catch. They cause a far more urgent want in Peeta too, his need to kiss every exposed inch of skin causes a delicious feeling inside of me, as if I yield some sort of power over him to do these things that make goose bumps flood the skin of my neck as he continues to gnaw gently at the spot where my pulse throbs.

The oddity of the situation hits me; for once, Peeta is the hunter and I am the helpless one being preyed upon. Yet the terror that I had been expecting never arrives, similar to the way that Peeta never surrenders or falters in his kisses, the warmth of his mouth sparking my nerves until it feels like I may crash and fall into some unknown oblivion that's torturously pleasing in nature. The feeling is ripped from me quickly as he separates us, his breath catching and his cheeks flush with a slight tinge of pink before his eyes are burning deep into mine with something that I've never seen before.

" Katniss….I need to know something…I need to know if this… what I'm feeling, what I'm doing …is real or not…"

Desire. Longing. Hurt. These are what I see in the periwinkle blue depths of his eyes, making him both sublime and beautiful. Those haunted eyes that at any point could threaten, yet after everything, they continue to do nothing but adore. We stay in this parallel universe where time and the boundaries of space don't seem to matter or exist. There's nothing but his eyes, they're all I can see. Those eyes that bring me hope, joy and the promise of re birth and renewal; the dandelion in the spring.

Almost without any conscious control from my brain, the words that he's longed to hear flood out in a whisper.

"Real" I say, watching how his eyes have lost the hurt aspect and now there's nothing but hope kindled within them.

He knows it's the truth.

But there's more.

Deep, deep down inside of me, ever since that day he threw the bread, there's always been 'more' of this particular feeling for this boy. I'd been uncertain before, cautiously defining him as an enemy on account of him being of merchant class, but now I understand that it was just a mask for something I hadn't fully recognised or experienced. This is what made Peeta different. This is what made him that confusing, conflicting aspect, that middle way which I could never truly define before now.

"I love you, Peeta Mellark"

The words hang in the space between us, savouring the moment, the crispness of his mouth as it opens slightly and I want to say it again; I want to say it to him for the rest of his life, now that I've discovered it. But there's an undisclosed and slightly selfish desire that sits inside of my restless heart; the need for him to say it back to me. To reciprocate what has been so easy for him to grasp, yet has taken me a lifetime to finally realise.

Then they come out again, louder and joyful.

"I love you, Peeta. I get it now, I didn't before, but…but it's real…."

The look in his eyes is one of pure delight; the corners of his mouth creasing similarly to that of his eyelids.

One more time, one more time for now.

"I love you"

* * *

Then the world around me ceases to exist bar the fortress that towers over me. His body shifts so that we fall neatly onto the mattress of the spare bedroom that's never been used before, my back hits the white linen duvet and I sink comfortably in as Peeta's touches consume me, but it's a new type of fire that I gladly welcome. Catching a glimpse of him I'm immediately drawn to his eyelashes and the way they flutter against his skin as he kisses my exposed collarbones. He doesn't need to ask for permission, although I'd grant him it, willingly. Since my omission several minutes earlier there isn't anything that I would deny Peeta now. His tongue swirls along my collarbone and my skin flushes at the feel of his breath as it follows and I find myself blushing at the thoughts of how good it would feel somewhere further down my body. His eyes meet mine, clouded with a hazy lust that seems to fill the room as he stands up, spreading the space between us.

"Katniss…we can stop if you want to…"

The longing for me to say no is evident in his voice as I sit up, letting my legs dangle off the edge of the bed. In one swift movement I tug the light fabric shirt over my head before tossing it to the ground and lying back down, my hair fanned out above me. Peeta watches me intently, which worries me slightly. His eyes follow my body, the lines and scars sustained; some in the name of freedom; others in the name of love. Insecurity hits me and I find myself wanting to be shielded from his gaze when he asks quietly.

"Could I…can I… touch them? It's okay if…"

But my hand is already in his, dragging him down so that he hunches above me, our hands still joined. He watches the alternating shades of our skin as I brush his fingertips along my ribcage, following the jagged scar that was left after the ordeal in the Capitol. His breath catches slightly as we loop around to the burn mark on my stomach, the last remaining link I have to Prim, my hold on his hand getting looser and looser as he follows my chest, passing over my bra and onto my sternum before travelling to the ragged, ugly mark that Johanna left on me after cutting the tracker out during the Quell.

My fingers let go of his hand and the instant tingly warmth that they provided is replaced with the blaze that erupts from his mouth as he slowly kisses my arm before following the trail we'd laid only moments ago. He loses himself to the moment again and the kisses he plants are like pieces of a puzzle slotting back into place; making me remember the parts that for so long, I'd tried to forget. Then the hunger hits me, right in the pit of my stomach and it swells around more ferociously than before.

"Peeta…" The moan that elicits from me is a far cry from usual gruffness, but he brings his attention back to my face as my fingers trace the buttons of his shirt, before prying one open and resting the palm of my hand on his bare skin. He takes a deep breath in and I can feel the contours of his stomach pull in with his diaphragm before he rips the shirt off, the buttons scattering all around me, until the smooth plains of his chest are on display to me.

He is beautiful to me.

"I don't know….how…I've never.…I mean…" I stutter, hoping that the jumble of words will convey my incoherent thoughts.

"We'll learn…I don't know that much either" he says, a smile creeping onto his face, his eyes mirroring the delight as he meets me in a gentle kiss and a swoon escapes from my throat, causing his laughter to nearly shake the bed frame.

A new found confidence overtakes the pair of us as we discover each other in the most intimate of ways. I'm not frightened or embarrassed because I know that it's Peeta, the boy with the bread, the dandelion in the spring, the assurance of love and protection that radiates off of him without his own realisation. His hands move to seek out pleasures that I'd never even knew existed between the folds of skin at the apex of my thighs. The action of his hand causes my hips to rear up against him as my skin quivers against him.

"Ssh… Easy Katniss…" he smiles, tickling that sweet spot again, before bringing his mouth to mine and trailing kisses down my neck, watching for my reaction as he places sloppy kisses down my sternum and across my breasts.

"Peetaa…" I say, a long, throaty growl spewing from my mouth as his hand continues his ministrations in conjunction with his mouth flicking at my nipple, his teeth grazing it slightly.

"Peeta!"

And in the short second that it takes to say his name, I'm lifted to a higher place; one that I never even knew existed and I feel an explosion of liquid trickle down my thighs, probably slipping onto the linen. His eyes find mine, hazy and loving as a smirk of satisfaction crosses his mouth, clearly proud of his accomplishment.

And then, just when I think that I can't feel any more spectacular, he says the words that make my insides melt in an entire different way.

"I love you"

Then again, as he hovers over me, our elbows aligned together as he grasps my bare shoulders, his breath tickling my ear with a kiss.

"I love you, so much Katniss Everdeen"

I don't object and he doesn't hesitate to undo his dark jeans, kicking them off along with the black boxer shorts that sit snuggly on the cusp of his hips but only fall to his knees. My own legs spread a little more, feeling his hardness graze at my upper thigh. Peeta's hand traces my face and his fingers run though my hair as he joins us in that vital spot that's aching for him. The breath is ripped from me at the feeling of fullness as Peeta slowly pushes through, clutching my shoulders tighter as he kisses my mouth.

"I'm hurting you…Katniss, I'm sorry…" and he begins to pull away, but I hold him tight, both inside and out, my arms clinging to his bare back and his hair.

"No…Peeta, no…Peeta…Stay with me?"

His eyes stare deeply into mine and his hands take mine in his, before kissing our knotted fingers as he pulls out slowly, only to push back in and heighten the feeling of fullness.

"Always" he says, smiling sweetly at me.

"Forever" I breathe back at him, my hips rising to meet his gentle thrusts.

The kiss that follow completely consumes me as Peeta continues to toy with the new ground that we've covered, our bodies quickly growing slick with sweat as he moves faster and deeper each time until the friction between us grows hotter and I know I'm near that point of no return again. After two particular hard thrusts, Peeta makes me come undone and I spill from underneath again without anything but unconditional love for him.

"Peetaaaaa…!" a long, raspy sound comes from my throat as he shouts a long cry and I feel his limbs tremble as his release crashes over him and he collapses on top of me, until we're one conjoined mess of shaky, sweaty limbs.

But the moment is perfect, perfect for the pair of us. It belongs to no one but Peeta and I. Not for the cameras, the crowds or the Capitol, but for us and us alone.

This moment is precious.

It's his.

It's mine.

It's ours.


End file.
